Shutters slammed down like guillotines, the sound echoing through Seranovia's panicked streets. A tide of bodies, once a cheerful festival crowd, now surged toward the perceived safety of their homes, their faces pale masks of fear. Merchants scrambled to secure their stalls, knocking over crates of unsold goods. The joyful music had been replaced by the frantic tolling of the emergency horn, a deep, resonant cry that seemed to make the very marble of the city vibrate.
Roy turned to Zhanna as they were swept along with the current of dignitaries and knights heading for the stadium. "What's the chaos for? Is a dungeon appearing really this bad?"
A predatory grace marked Zhanna's movements even in the rush. Her arm, draped with a casual authority, settled on his shoulder. "The horn has sounded, but the officials have not yet announced the location. It could be on the other side of the world, a perfect outcome for us considering what is there. Or," she said, her voice dropping, "it could manifest in the heart of Seranovia."
The gesture was almost friendly, but Eryndra, moving with a silent, deliberate step, was suddenly between them. Her hand gently, but with an undeniable firmness, lifted Zhanna's from Roy's shoulder. Zhanna just offered a slow, knowing smile that held no warmth at all.
The marble archway of the Grand Stadium loomed before them, a monument to heroes and forgotten glories. Heavily armored Seranovian guards, their faces grim, directed the flow of people inside. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and fear.
"Roy, with us." Lynder Shadevale's quiet voice cut through the noise. He led them to a private entrance on the ground floor, just a stone's throw from the central stage. Their box was an elegant, open-fronted chamber of polished dark wood and muted velvet, one of several reserved for the guildmasters.
From their vantage point, Roy could see the upper tiers filling with the rest of the world's elite. Lynder pointed with his chin towards the highest, most opulent box, a shimmering enclosure of translucent crystal. "The Queen remains sequestered, as is tradition during a crisis. She will observe, but not interfere unless a direct threat to the city is confirmed."
Roy's gaze swept across the four equally impressive boxes flanking the Queen's. "And them?"
"The powers that truly run this city," Lynder explained, his voice low. "The Exarch, Overseer of all Guildmasters. If anyone in this world rivals the Queen in sheer authority, it would be him. Then we have the Prime Warden of the Navy, the Wargod of the Army, and lastly, the Archmagister of the Arcane Convocation. Each of them commands a level of respect, and power, equal to the others."
Roy nodded, his gaze sweeping over the assembled dignitaries. "Looks like everyone who's anyone is here."
Maelara, who had joined them in the box, scanned the other sections, her expression thoughtful. "Not everyone. The Abyssforged Alliance formally declined the festival invitation," she murmured, her voice low. "But the whispers I heard in the guild hall this morning said a single, unidentified member might be here. Incognito."
Warrex grunted. "Cowards. Afraid to show their faces in the light."
A sudden hush fell over the stadium as a figure stepped onto the central podium. Vorthas Nythren stood there, his presence a void that seemed to drink the light. He raised a hand, and even the most panicked nobles fell silent.
"Dignitaries of Seranovia," Vorthas began, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying to every corner of the vast arena. "I represent the Demon High Council. We came today not for festivities, but to deliver a warning." He gestured, and a small, dark orb of polished obsidian formed in his open palm and grew several feet wider. "A cycle concludes. The first dungeon in a thousand years has manifested."
Within the orb's dark heart, a live image swam into focus, a dizzying, first-person perspective from one of his scouts. The stadium watched, transfixed, as the shadowy, formless scout drifted over a gaping, colossal maw in the earth, a swirling vortex of dark energy and raw, untamed magic. "Its location," Vorthas announced, his voice a calm pronouncement of doom, "is ten miles from the eastern walls of a fledgling city-state. A place known as Otherrealm."
A cold stillness settled over Roy. He didn't hesitate. "Serenity," he commanded into his comm, his voice a low, urgent hiss, "launch the recon drones from Otherrealm's eastern wall. Confirm his report. Now." A single, affirmative beep was his only reply.
Roy waited, his expression a mask of calm, while a wave of panicked murmurs erupted through the stadium. Less than a minute passed before Serenity's voice crackled in his ear. "Confirmed, Captain. Vorthas is not lying."
A slow, predatory grin grew on Roy's face. "Serenity to launch the heavy-lift and projector drones from the Nightshatter. Here. To the stadium."
The roar of their engines was the first warning, a sound that ripped through the panicked chatter of the harbor. Four massive heavy-lift drones, each the size of a small car, lumbered into the sky towards the stadium. A huge, tightly rolled canvas of white, durable fabric slung between them. A pair of smaller, sleeker projector drones zipped into position below.
High above the stadium, the canvas unfurled with a sound like snapping thunder, a vast, blank slate against the sky. The projector drones flared to life, casting a breathtaking, terrifyingly clear image onto the canvas. The same mile-wide dungeon maw, but now seen in full, stable, high-resolution glory, so vivid it felt as though the stadium itself was perched on the edge of the abyss.
A collective gasp, a sound of thousands of breaths stolen at once, tore through the stadium.
"An illusion mage!" someone shrieked from the upper tiers, their voice cracking with a mixture of terror and awe. "The first new user since Set III and his bride-to-be, Sorrowclaw!"
"Is he a threat!?" another shouted.
Roy leaned into his comm, and his voice, amplified by the drones, boomed across the now-silent stadium. "It is not an illusion. It is merely a projection of pure, focused light. I figured I'd help out considering those in the back probably can't see the tiny image this absolutely dapper demon projected." He shot Vorthas a look, a cheeky, almost challenging, head tilt that said, My projection is better than yours.
An appreciative chuckle rumbled in Vorthas's chest, clearly enjoying the boy's audacity.
Lynder Shadevale's amplified voice then cut through the rising panic, lending his authority to the claim. "The Captain speaks the truth. I have seen this technology before. What you are seeing is real."
The clarification did little to soothe the crowd; it simply shifted their fear from magic to the terrifying, unknown power of the man who wielded such impossible devices. From his royal box, the Daigensui watched, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk. The King of the Umbral Consortium, however, was not amused. His face was a mask of cold, silent rage at the familiar, arrogant display of Roy's power.
"Captain Gunn," Lynder said, his voice a low, urgent whisper as he moved to Roy's side. "This could be a catastrophe. The last dungeon was never fully cleared. The floors scale logarithmically, a monster on the lower floors faces too much risk trying to go up as the monsters directly above it are near their own strength. The monsters from the upper floors have no dread of moving upward, those above are little more than prey. They escaped and plagued the surrounding lands for years, turning a hundred square miles into an uninhabitable wasteland."
Roy's gaze remained fixed on the drone feed, which now showed a cutaway view of the dungeon's interior. A single wide and deep central shaft plunged straight down into the earth.
"I have the chance," Roy whispered, a strange, manic grin spreading across his face, "to do the most annoying, and funniest, thing in the history of this entire world."
"Captain, a full-scale assault is inadvisable without further reconnaissance," Serenity's voice crackled in his ear. "Caution is recommended."
"I know," Roy replied, his grin splitting his face. "But I can't help it. Let's go with a five-megaton ballistic missile, straight down the dungeon's central shaft, bottom out. Launch."
Serenity's reply came level and cold, a glacial bite. "Denied. A five-megaton underground burst ten miles from Otherrealm will induce structural failure. You would shatter your own city to save it."
Roy leaned so far back in his chair that it nearly tipped. "So… no hammer swinging. Give me the clever, smart AI lady version," he said.
"Typically I choose the missiles from the catalog… but," Serenity said, her voice sliding into a working hum. "I could try and design one instead of merely selecting one. We craft a missile for this specific shaft, this unique geology. A giant, controlled sequence, not a single spike."
Harmony's voice joined the comm channel, her excitement barely contained. "Design is all about visual information, Serenity, and I've got mapping covered! I've been developing new scanning methods, and now for my big reveal!"
"Walk me through it," Roy responded, leaning forward.
"Two short-range ballistic deliveries," Harmony explained, her voice crisp with technical precision. "The first carries a drone bus. It'll decelerate above the mouth, deploy its payload, and then a swarm of smaller drones will ride the shaft all the way to the bottom. If nothing interferes, they'll spread out across the entire floor, forming a seamless detector mesh. The second delivery carries the muon pulse emitter strapped on a heavy drone. It will slow, deploy, and then hold its position directly above the mouth. Once the mesh confirms stability, I'll fire the pulse. The detectors will then meticulously record counts and transit times. While the stadium bickers amongst themselves, I'll be assembling the complete model."
"Okay. Then what happens?" Roy asked, a hint of impatience in his tone.
Serenity took the handoff. "A descending courier, but scaled out to the full job. One hundred missile buses, each with thirty-two mini-warheads arranged as four rings of eight. On arrival, each bus fires its warheads sideways into flagged supports on its assigned floors. Yields per warhead baseline at one to two kilotons. Some floors draw two or three buses if spans are wide or columns dense."
"What's it going to look like? Big and flashy?" Roy asked, excitement finally rising again.
"A rolling demolition," Serenity said. "Deepest targets detonate first. By the time floors three hundred twenty-nine through three hundred thirty-three finish, the charges for three hundred twenty-five through three hundred twenty-eight are a second from firing. The wave climbs the shaft in tightly staggered bands. The final set, floors one through four, erupts about one minute after the first on the bottom floor. Duration on the order of a minute, height roughly two miles, footprint about a square mile. From Otherrealm it should register as a long, heavy train rather than a single quake."
Silent math he couldn't understand ran in his head. "As long as Otherrealm stays standing, I'm in."
"That is the constraint," Serenity said. "I'll tune the yields and spacing to stay under it, as Harmony completes the scan."
Harmony again, unruffled. "Muon emitter is on its way. Ready to begin mapping in a minute or two. Just let the dopes here argue about stuff until it's ready."